


Seven Days of Stillness

by skywaterblue



Category: West Wing
Genre: Character Death, Gen, Grief, Jewish Character, Judaism, Missing Scene, POV Jewish Character, Political Campaigns, Subtext
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-14
Updated: 2010-08-14
Packaged: 2017-10-11 02:30:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/107384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skywaterblue/pseuds/skywaterblue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Seven days is a long time. It's an eternity of stillness after years of motion, in a house that is not your home, only it is supposed to be.</p><p>(Josh sits Shiva for his father.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Seven Days of Stillness

Seven days is a long time. It's an eternity of stillness after years of motion, in a house that is not your home, only it is supposed to be.

He thinks a lot about that as he lies on the bed which is theoretically his, if he still lived here, had spent any serious amount of time here since he left a hundred thousand hours ago. When Josh thinks of home, he thinks of a place that doesn't exist anymore, with music and laughter. When Josh thinks of this house, he remembers empty hours, and three people all trying to fill too much empty space. That's what he thinks about during long hours, sitting on his bed, watching the dust motes spin in the heavy air.

He should be in motion. He isn't.

His cellphone rings twice an hour, and disrupts the quiet. Most often, it's Sam, a sympathetic voice relaying a message from one of the others in a tinny little voice-- if he's quiet, he can hear the background noise. The rumble of the engines of the bus, of the plane. The blurring tones of CNN-Fox-MSNBC-all television becoming one in a haze that rises over the ringing phones and the humming printers. He feels like two people during these conversations: one is making a point about polling samples and agricultural subsidies. The other is trying to capture something that's missing.

Anyhow, eventually they get what they need out of him, and hang up. He goes back to watching nothing, and wallowing in the silence.

His mother comes in and out of the room, and he sits up and jokes with her and she brings him a sandwich and a can of soda. He participates actively in the conversation when she tells him which neighbors came to visit today, and did he remember them from before? (He's never sure which before she means, before before, or before he left for college?) And she'll express her sorrow that he didn't come down and say hi. He'll say he stinks and he hasn't shaved and she'll laugh a bitter, shallow laugh that fades away. Before the noise has finished, they'll both find some other place to look, away from each other. Then she'll pat his knee, and go back downstairs.

His mother has never understood his need to do things on his own time-- she pushes him to move faster when he wants to move slowly, pulls him back when he wants to run. He thinks someone should tell her, at some point, that there are some things you can't fix by talking about them. But he guesses the only one left to say that is him, and he never will.

Donna arrives in the middle of the afternoon of the seventh day.

His mother lets her up into the room before he can even finish really getting halfway dressed. So, he's sitting there in a very rumpled dress shirt, and slacks, bare feet hanging off the edge of his bed. And he's also aware that he desperately needs to shower and shave, and he thanks his lucky stars he's Jewish and can pass it off as one of those crazy Jewish rituals (Shiva) and not just that he hasn't had the energy to get up.

His mother leaves a few seconds later, and Donna plops on the bed beside him with a genuine smile. Happy to see him. When was the last time he saw her smile? He feels, all of the sudden, that he's been in this place, static, for much longer than seven days.

"Hey, wow, it's almost like an actual beard, Josh." It seems like all her words are extended in some parody of her usual Midwestern drawl, as she reaches out to scruff it. And suddenly, he's curious.

"What's it look like? I've never had a beard before."

Donna bites her lip in a grin, "Haven't you... oh, I guess not. Stupid stupid." And she does look really embarrassed about it, ducking her head, and tucking a strand of hair behind her ears. Her blond hair practically glows in the light.

He wants her to know it's okay, and so, "Nah, lack of mirrors at the moment. So? Does it make me look rakishly handsome?"

"It makes you look like a guy who hasn't had a shower or a shave in a week," Donna says wryly.

And all of the sudden, there's nothing there. He's not sure what the right thing to say is-- usually, he remembers this, it's some sort of off-hand remark designed to continue the patter. "Oh," is all he finds himself saying, in a sort of choked whisper. The words he normally uses fall away again, and he thinks he's frowning, as if he could remember them through force of facial expression.

She waits a while, slender hand smoothing down the pleat of her casual slacks. Then, "I'm sorry, Josh. I don't know what I'm supposed to do here. Leo--"

"Leo wants me back now. He waited the first three days because he felt bad, waited the last four days out of respect for tradition, but he wants me back, and wanted me back yesterday, not today."

Donna sighs and looks around the room, as if she'll find the answers in a corner, or in a picture on the wall. Her hands sit dully in her lap. "I think it's crap, Josh--"

Josh laughs, high and sharp, "Yeah, well, it is a Presidential election. Time is of the essence, rapidly drawing near, fast approaching." All those words, tumbling out.

"Okay, from now on, just pick one phrase and run with it," Donna advises, and now they're doing the thing again. And it all feels... so normal, and he's so intensely grateful, that he decides to latch on to that and run with it. It can't be any worse than sitting here all day feeling sorry for himself. And at worst, he'd help repay the kindness that Governor Bartlet showed him last week, the kind of concern for other people that Americans had all but forgotten in it's leaders. He had to make sure other people got to experience that.

So he looks over and catches her eyes, and feels a smile quirk his lips. "Yeah, I'll keep that in mind." Then he runs a hand through his hair, which is gross even by his standards and asks, "We have time for me to take a shower before we go, right?"

Donna grins and says, "I wouldn't advise leaving the house like that. None of the women find that attractive, and at this stage of funk, you might even offend some of the men."

"Wouldn't want that," he admitted, sliding off the bed and padding across the room. "Okay, I'm gonna clean up now. Then let's get on the road, we need to get back to work. There's a President to elect, Donna, and my dad would be royally pissed if I screwed this up on his account." Josh stopped at the doorway, and turned to look at his assistant, her blond hair still glowing, smile on her face. "Donna...." He swallowed. "Thanks for coming to get me."

She met his eyes again, almost pinning him down. "Everyone needs someone to look out for them, Joshua."

"I get you?"

"Don't see anyone else applying for the job."

Josh considered this, then, "It's yours. If you want it." And he thumped the doorjamb, before turning down the hall to take a shower.

Time to get moving.

**Author's Note:**

> http://skywaterblue.dreamwidth.org/327501.html#cutid1 - Dreamwidth Comment Archive


End file.
